Prime Ministers speak through their announcements, their schemes, and their financial reports. They also speak from the ramparts of Red Fort, from podiums of big rallies, and from the inside of plush recording studios. But, more importantly, prime ministers give us a glimpse of their real persona and character through their reactions and unspoken behaviour towards the press and the people.

In this throwback series, Nutan Manmohan recalls some on- and off-camera moments with Indian Prime Ministers that give us a glimpse into their personalities.

“Bahut jantu parantu milte hain reporting mein,” said Alok Tomar as he moved his six-fingered left hand to stir the hot arhar dal over a mound of namkeen bhujia and rice – the staple menu that Alok had for lunch and dinner every day. Meeting maverick characters or, ‘jantu parantu’, as Alok called them is a significant perk of journalism. Alok himself was one. He was not only a talented reporter at the Jansatta newspaper– he would conjure up hilarious comic limericks, write poignant poetry and mimic politicians with great flair. Considering that Alok was plump and short, with his fondness for paan showing on his front teeth, my nickname for him was rude, but Alok would throw his head back and laugh when I called him ‘Bhasmasur’. Despite the obnoxious nickname, he would visit the Newstrack office to help me crack difficult stories.

I was setting off to Hyderabad to profile NT Rama Rao, and Alok had a cautionary tip–“Don’t get thrown off by NTR’s weird early morning time slots for an interview, his mood swings and sudden cancellations.”

It all came true. Over the next week– NTR’s staff would give roll time of 4 am for Chief Minister’s interview. We would wake up at 2 in the night to get ready, and load equipment–only to be told at 3.45 am that the meeting was shifted to the next day. A few such consecutive cancellations turned the crew into zombies with dark circles under their eyes.

Finally, on the fourth day-dressed as he always was in saffron, NTR sat like a deity in front of our camera. I had just begun asking questions when suddenly our cinematographer–Ajmal Jami looked at me significantly and rushed out of the room!  Multiple lights and batteries were blinking, camera tape was whirling, NTR the demigod was beaming at us–but the cameraman had disappeared into the chief ministerial loo! Red-eye flight timings of the interview had packed up his stomach. While I felt like a passenger on an unmanned plane during takeoff– miraculously the interview went off fine.

Over the years, one would encounter more such politicians who create unusual situations with their fondness for meeting the camera crew at the crack of dawn. I must put on record though that if politics is a Petri dish of mavericks– journalism is a verdant flower bed of  ‘jantu parantus.’

The last enclosure at the end of the long corridor in Star TV headquarters in Delhi was dressed in fuchsia purple upholstery. Just a step away from the coffee machine, it was always filled with enticing aromas of the wake-up brew along with various homemade and market delivered food goodies. Squeals of laughter would regularly erupt inside like geothermal geysers, but little sound would escape outside into the otherwise silent office floor. Television is about teams, and I had a room full of talent packed inside a 12X12 glass cubicle.

With her long silky hair secured into a bun with an office pencil and a hand-drawn charcoal bindi of a baby snake sitting in the middle of her brow, Anju Juneja, the Associate Director of in-house productions, was unfazed and unflappable. For every ‘raita’ that tv productions always float in–Anju would convert challenges into watchable slices of good television. She had a ‘can do’ spirit that I always associate with Sikhnis.

Working closely with her was Nidhi Alexander, a tech wizard with AI type memory and stupendous research skills. Brought up on strong Syrian Christian values by her ‘amachi’, Nidhi was the moral compass of the group and would make sure that no one and nothing was unfair or unwarranted. Even valid ambush or candid camera shoots had to pass Nidhi’s ethical barometer.

Minnie Menon, a former model and at that time a budding television director with a flair for writing added sparkle and stardust to the team. This women’s squad of in-house professionals were accompanied by a top-notch tech team of cinematographers and sound men who stepped in on shoot days.

Moans of protest rose from the cubicle just as HD Deve Gowda, the former prime minister, confirmed an interview to us at 5.30 am the next morning. These were cold and foggy winter mornings, and the sun had been entirely absent in Delhi for a fortnight.

For today’s mojo or mobile journalism crews, it may be difficult to imagine a shoot with a 40 kg camera attached to an equally massive recorder through a thick cobra-like wire. The cameraman and soundman had to be strong to carry this equipment. More importantly, both the technicians had to tango in sync while shooting crowded events, election rallies, student demonstrations etc. These cameras were not lumin sensitive so there were multi-ten lights with heavy stands and cutters. Each tape, though, as thick as the constitution of India, recorded just 30 minutes of footage. So, we carried a suitcase full of them. With one more hard-shelled suitcase filled with batteries, cables, accessories and a heavy tripod: it was a van full of equipment. With all this paraphernalia, the crew car stopped in front of the former prime minister’s residence in Delhi.

In a scene reminiscent of a Hitchcock film, the wicker gates were unmanned and swung with a creaking groan. The front garden was dishevelled with overgrown wild grass. The verandah furniture was covered in black soot and lay haphazardly. We entered a dark drawing room to see an old man sitting in the corner on a lumpy sofa. Wrapped in a thick shawl and a monkey cap, he seemed too deep in slumber for us to disturb. We thought he’s probably the chowkidar.

The crew started putting up lights for a two camera set-up, but everyone was surely sullen about waking up at 3 am. Due to Nidhi Alexander’s censor board like presence, there were no swear words, but slangs like ‘khoosat’ and ‘budha’ etc, were flying around the room, even as Anju and I tried to concentrate on research and questions.

When the shot was ready, we hollered and clapped to call the staff, which could inform DG about us. All of a sudden, the old man in the corner of the room stirred and took off his shawl and his monkey cap. I was aghast to see it was, in fact, the former prime minister, Dewe Gowda!

I wished the dusty floor would split open so I could disappear and go underground. With a parched throat and ears red with embarrassment–we started recording the next episode of  ‘prime ministers speak’.

In the aftermath of ‘13 day Vajpayee government’, India had confronted the question: who will be the next prime minister? The 11th Lok Sabha was so fragmented, so open to permutation and combinations that it could be anyone. Anyone at all. Many wondered if it will be the return of  Chandra Shekhar as predicted by his astrologers? Will it be Lalu Prasad Yadav as proposed by VP Singh? Will it be Mulayam Singh Yadav as pushed by the section of the Left? Every magazine and newspaper ran a multi-column guess list, but no one had zeroed down the dark horse from Karnataka: HD Deve Gowda.

He was a backbencher of the ‘third front.’ Before becoming the Prime Minister,  in his entire stint as a member of Parliament, Deve Gowda was never visible during debates or discussions. He took a seat at the back quietly observing the proceedings. His ‘silent position’ was very strategic, he was never a thorn in anyone’s heel so when Biju Patnaik suggested his name, no one protested.

Though he had been a silent spectator to corruption and scams earlier–but as prime minister, Deve Gowda learned, charges of fraud against opponents are a useful missile that delivers and destroys. During his tenure, CBI launched a series of investigations against his political opponents. Though 11 months is a very short time for any conclusive revelations, his tenure will be remembered for well-publicised investigations.

The second abiding memory of Deve Gowda were shots of him snoozing. Headlines of newspapers would frequently carry pictures of the PM half asleep at various ceremonial functions. In my interview, I asked him the reason for the ‘sleep malfunction.’ He replied that “the press kept re-running the same shot over and over again. The press must not do rumour mongering,” he said.

When probed further on snooze shots being from different locations–Deve Gowda said running a coalition was a very challenging assignment. “I did not want to be a survivor–on a day to day lease basis.”  Sadly, this is precisely the image embedded in people’s mind. A lingering image of a prime minister as a managing director of a tethering company: cajoling, pleading and persuading his board of directors before taking any decision.